


Yellow Brogues and Rouge Lips

by Cryptand_Bismol



Series: Miles Maitland Loves [2]
Category: Bright Young Things, Vile Bodies
Genre: 1920s, All of Miles' outfits are inspired by Stephen Tennant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon - Book, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Ginger POV, Ginger deserved better, Hand Jobs, Historical Accuracy, Implied Sexual Content, Liberal use of Mr Chatterbox, Light Angst, M/M, Making Love, Period Typical Attitudes, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sensual sock removal, Some movie canon, That's right I went there, mostly - Freeform, not as weird as that sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-28 17:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19817260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptand_Bismol/pseuds/Cryptand_Bismol
Summary: “Are you enjoying yourself, Ginger?”“Rather. I say, I’ve met an awful good chap, called Miles. Regular topper. You know, pally. That’s what I like about a really decent party – you meet such topping fellows. I mean some chaps it takes absolutely years to know, but a chap like Miles I feel is a pal straight away.”...On the way Ginger said,  “That cove Miles,” he said, “You know, he’s awfully queer...”Chapter 8, Vile Bodies-Ginger first meets Miles at the Captive Airship party. From there he keeps meeting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I delve into the pool of a lengthy rare-pair fic, but this is a true labour of love, I adored writing this, it consumed me tbh 
> 
> I watched Bright Young Things and naturally fell in love with Miles, but then I read the book and I fell IN LOVE with Ginger (and got really rather mad at Nina and Adam’s Christmas trick, seriously fuck them)
> 
> And there just so happened to be a lovely hinted at interaction between Miles and Ginger at the airship in Chapter 8 and it fuelled me to write this 
> 
> Mostly book!plot with mostly book!Ginger in personality (where he isn’t the man who gives Adam the £1000 to start off with) and movie!Ginger in looks, but with movie characterisation of Miles and general embellishment in terms of Tiger’s name etc etc (because Evelyn Waugh is not one for detail in this novel!) There won’t be a war (well in 1930 at least) because that’s just grim, so canon divergence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! I've changed the dialogue ever so slightly  
> I wrote a lot of Ginger’s dialogue eloquently at first, but now have peppered in all the little rambling phrases like he has in the novel and have retroactively done so to all chapters because I realised he does it a lot and I never actually catered to it, I just hope it reads mostly organically  
> Though I think it’s something of a nervous ramble and in the softer scenes with Miles it’s more toned down

He hadn’t been away terribly long, he had thought, but everything was so different in London now, the people, the places, even the air seemed different. It was jolly good luck he’d run into Nina again, even if it was odd seeing her face after nothing more than a picture all these years. He liked her well enough, had some very fond memories from their childhood, but the joy he imagined he would feel upon seeing her face proper again never truly surfaced. On those lonely nights in Ceylon he had imagined his future would be matrimony with her, an ideal away from his life out East, but now it seemed rather foolish, especially once he was introduced to Adam.

The man was a fine fellow, funny too, as to be expected of _Mr Chatterbox_ , and he could see why Nina liked him so. They had gotten roaringly drunk together, and, after a delightful rendition of the Eton Boating Song with a tipsy American, conceded that London was not as dreary as he had feared upon his immediate return, and was most grateful for the pair showing him as such.

Ginger had woken with a blinding headache but could not help his booming laugh when he read _Mr Chatterbox_ ’s latest expose on himself. It was most embarrassing to subsequently be the centre of so much attention, stares and quiet whispers, but even with the discomfort of it he couldn’t fail to see the humour in it. Oh, how he liked Adam immensely.

He had asked the pair to dinner the next day, where they had tremendous fun. He had finally, begrudgingly, been convinced of the existence of the captive airship, and they set forth to join the party. It was a bleak drive though, long and through rather desolated housing of the lower classes. He felt pity for them, quietly, but detached in the way one may tut at a sad story in the paper.

He’d been separated from his companions rather quickly, after they had tripped over the poorly covered cables across the field, and felt a little lost at sea. Abstractly he recognised all sorts of guests, mostly by face alone, their names not forthcoming, and he was drawn towards the vaguely familiar face of Miss Runcible by the bar, sipping champagne with a few other guests.

He had intended to talk to her directly after collecting a drink of his own, but before he could approach her a man sidled up to him. As a man whose attire was naught more than a black suit, Ginger though the man was dressed rather extravagantly for his tastes, a deep red waistcoat beneath a tartan blazer, tan trousers to match, and at his throat, instead of a tie, was an elaborate flowery cravat. The lights were dim, but Ginger was sure he could see rouge on the man’s lips, and shadow on his eyes. It was quite a bold look, but Ginger found it rather pleasant, especially with his soft looking curls.

“Well, you _are_ a new face,” the man said, looking over him appraisingly, “Certainly not one I would forget at least.”

“Well, quite, I mean to say, I expect so, I’ve not been back from the East for more than a week.”

“Oh, the East? You wouldn’t happen to be the darling Captain Littlejohn that _Mr Chatterbox_ is so fond of?”

“Please, call me Ginger.”

“Ginger, why, there’s not a speck of red on you!” the man grinned, placing a palm against his forearm, “Miles Maitland.”

“Well, jolly good to meet you Miles,” he smiled, then took another swig of champagne; that grin really was most charming across his waxy red lips, “And I used to have more of an appropriate colouring as a boy and all that. You could always call me Eddy, I mean my real name is Edward, but I mean to say I prefer Eddy, but Ginger more so, if you prefer?”

“Eddy? I think not, what a bore! No, I like Ginger, a lot more spicy.”

Ginger laughed, “I quite agree.”

“This party is most dull isn’t it?” Miles said, finishing the last of his drink.

Ginger raised his hand to the bartender to order before Miles could, enjoying the pleased look that came across his face at the gesture, “I say, current conversational partner aside, I would have to agree. The drive over was most dreadful, you know. Tell me, did you get a taxi here?”

“Oh no, my friend brought me in his motor car, it’s really quite charming. Though I don’t imagine where he’s gotten off to now. He’s been most aggravating of late, disappearing off. In fact he was quite short with me on the way over.”

“How dreadful,” he said, “You seem like an awfully good chap, I do say, I can’t imagine why he would be cross with you.”

“How sweet of you to say,” Miles practically preened, “But don’t be mistaken, I can be quite naughty.”

The inflection seemed slightly odd, but he truly did think Miles was a good chap, so he ignored it in favour of another laugh, “I mean, I quite think we all can be, after all.”

Miles seemed delighted, the hand that had been placed on his arm previously curling to link their arms together. Ginger though he maybe should protest at the touch, but found he had no personal complaints. Miss Runcible decided to make herself known then, and while he did know of her, they had never actually been introduced. Miles, however, seemed to know her extremely well, if his greeting was any indication, “Aggie, darling, this is Ginger.”

“How nice to meet you! I daresay, you aren’t all that ginger though,” she barrelled on, mostly in one breath, “Oh my, is that champagne? How divine, I shall have to have another glass. Barman? Barman!”

“No, no, do allow me,” Ginger said once the drinks were poured, slipping the bartender the bill. He held up his own glass in a toast, clinking the glass pleasingly against both Miles’ and Agatha’s, “To jolly good company.”

“Hear, hear!” Agatha cheered excitedly, to which Miles repeated.

“I’ve been reading the most wonderful stories about you in the papers,” Miss Runcible said, “Green bowler hats, I do say! And your own racing car, how thrilling!”

“You race, Ginger?” Miles asked him.

“Oh, no, only with myself, you see.”

“Oh, how disappointing, I could just picture you behind the wheel at Long Eaton! Tiger, my friend who brought me here, is a driver himself, he’s awfully good.”

“I won’t be driving, no, much too unruly, you know, but I do hope to be there. It seems like quite the place to be, I mean to say, if all the fuss is to be believed.”

“Perhaps we’ll see each other there, oh how delightful,” Miles hung a little more on his arm, his whole side pressed up against him.

Ginger didn’t move away.

Ginger excused himself to the lavatory after another two glasses of champagne and the dissipation of several more _Mr Chatterbox_ myths, and was most disappointed to find that Miles and Miss Runcible were no longer at the bar when he returned. Hoping the change of scenery was not because they were tired of his company, he scouted the crowd for the pair, looking out for the shock of red of Mile’s waistcoat, but to no avail. He wandered over to the terrace and was most pleased to find Adam and Nina nestled there. He felt a small amount of guilt at interrupting what looked like an intimate moment between the pair but reasoned that they had possibly been alone up here for most of the party and he so wished to talk to them.

“Hullo, you two,” he said, hands clasped behind his back, “Pretty good show this, what.”

Adam lifted his head from where it had been resting on Nina’s arm. He didn’t seem too put out by the intrusion, at least, “Are you enjoying yourself, Ginger?”

“Rather. I say, I’ve met an awful good chap, called Miles. Regular topper. You know, pally. That’s what I like about a really decent party – you meet such topping fellows. I mean some chaps it takes absolutely years to know, but a chap like Miles I feel is a pal straight away.”

“Oh, you’ve met Miles, how divine!” Nina said, “He’s a dear friend.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, jolly good news, I should most like to see him again,” Ginger enthused, “Have you seen the dear chap about? I just stepped away from the bar for a moment and I say he rather vanished.”

“With Tiger, I expect. Or with Agatha, perhaps,” Adam suggested.

“Miles is often in high demand, Ginger darling,” Nina added, “You’re quite lucky you got to speak to him as long as you did!”

A little disappointed at the lack of a forthcoming answer, Ginger frowned, “No matter, why, I shall try to seek him out myself, I should hope to see you all later.”

He did another sweep of the dancefloor, and waited by the bar once again, indulging himself in another drink as he hoped to spot Miles, but was once again disappointed. Deciding to get some air, he made his way down the steps, pausing as he spotted the most welcome sight of Miles also outside, partaking in a cigarette. He strutted over, only mildly embarrassing himself by tripping on two cables, and said, “Miles, hullo again.”

Miles hadn’t seen him approaching, evidently, for he startled a little; Ginger was pleased that his new pal hadn’t seen his less than graceful approach, “Ginger, I quite thought you’d left.”

Ginger was slightly distracted by him, for the spotlight outside offered a much better chance to see his face than the dreary interior had. His lashes looked even fuller than he’d thought, and the lipstick really was fetching. “No, I was just having a topping chat with Mr Symes and Miss Blount on the terrace,” he said, “I hear you’re a jolly good friend of theirs?”

“Oh you know Adam and Nina, how divine! Though I must say I’m ever so cross they haven’t mentioned you sooner, how criminal of them to keep you a secret from me.”

“We’ve only known each other a few days, and all that, I’m sure they haven’t had the opportunity.”

“You say a few days as though that’s reasonable. Darling, a few days is a lifetime for a man without water, is it not?” Miles said, dropping the stub of his cigarette and looping his arm through Ginger’s, “Do let’s head inside, there’s such a chill out here and I only came to get away from that bore Jane Brown.”

Ginger declined to share his own opinions on Miss Brown who, though sweet in all their previous interactions, was indeed dreadfully dull, “Well, I mean to say, I wouldn’t suppose I’m anything as vital as water.”

“Of course not, Ginger. You, my dear, are like champagne.”

Ginger wasn’t quite sure what Miles meant by that, but from the very becoming smile on his face he imagined it was rather complimentary. 

They were onto whiskey now, with a few of the less adventurous party goers having left, leaving the small dancefloor most lively with those more inclined to have fun. Miles had settled close to him in one of the booths, leaning heavily into his side with one arm slipped around his waist. Were he more sober, Ginger may have pushed him away, but Miles smelled divine and those lovely curls would tickle his cheek every now and then in the most pleasing manner.

They chatted most easily; what Ginger had said of Miles earlier was true, he rather was a pal straight away. In fact it quite felt like Ginger had known him for years. They were quite undisturbed, whether through their discretionary position in the airship, or from the perceived intimacy of their interaction, Ginger was unsure.

“Terribly sorry darling,” Miles said eventually, eyes catching sight on someone in the crowd, “Tiger is looking at me most dangerously.”

“Good lord, is he still angry with you?”

“Oh, undoubtably. Trust him to positively ignore me the whole night and then get jealous when I’m having such fun of my own. He’s such a cad sometimes.”

Before he could truly wrap his drunken mind around the phrasing, Miles had pressed a sticky kiss to his cheek, leaving a pretty pink stain upon his skin. His cheek tingled, as did the simmering feeling in his belly that had been present since Miles had first blinked those eyes at him.

“Adieu, darling, I expect I’ll see you around soon.” Miles said, slinking off towards the Tiger fellow.

He watched as Miles sidled up to the man, arm slipping around his waist and hand upon in his chest in a way that looked particularly intimate. How peculiar, is that how they had looked when seated together? He thought back to their interactions through the night, and especially Miles’ words, and was startled that it had taken him this long to realise what sort of ‘friend’ Tiger actually was.

On the edge of the meagre dance space, Tiger seemed to be unresponsive to Miles’ affections, and Ginger found he was mildly outraged; surely anyone so passive about Miles’ touch was undeserving of it. Jealous, Miles had said of his friend, though that certainly appeared to be more fitting to what Ginger was feeling now. Taking another long sip of whiskey, he watched as the pair departed the floor and down the airship’s steps.

He had made his way back to Adam and Nina soon after Miles had left, and found that Miss Runcible was now among them, sitting across them on the plush chair. The others chatted merrily, but Ginger found himself most distracted. He wasn’t perfectly sober, but he was significantly more so than earlier in the evening and agreed to drive them to Leicester Square.

He had, upon first impression, thought that Miles was certainly bold, but had not expected him to be queer. He found he was rather excited at the thought that Miles had been flirting with him, but quickly schooled the feeling. No, what a silly notion.

He wondered if they all knew of Miles proclivities, he wasn’t much discrete apparently. But they must know of his friendship with Tiger, too. Oh, how he had gushed to his friends about Miles! Suppose they figured he, too, was queer. Why, it would be positively disastrous.

He blanched when he recalled that Adam was the current _Mr Chatterbox_. Oh, what a story that would make, ‘The eligible Ginger Littlejohn was seen this evening at the captive dirigible intimately close with one Miles Maitland in shocking scenes’. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Ginger cleared his throat when the quiet chatter died down a little, “That cove Miles,” he said, “You know, he’s awfully queer...”

“Oh yes,” Agatha said, “It’s most wonderful.”

“Yes,” Adam said, and Ginger could hear a lot more caution in his tone than he had in Miss Runcible’s, “Miles is rather eccentric. I thought you said he was a good chap.”

“Oh quite so, quite so. I mean, a fine man, and all that.” Ginger assured, but did not elaborate, and the car lapsed into silence once more.

Nina had confided in him, a few days later, that Adam had given away a thousand pounds and was practically penniless, and that over the past few weeks they had been engaged and unengaged as money came into Adam’s life and then swiftly departed. She had said it with a sort of hopeful air, a knowing look as if she knew that Ginger had once longed to marry her. He frowned to himself, musing the situation over a glass of brandy long after she had departed to bed. He couldn’t say if Nina loved Adam, she seemed hot and cold over him in bursts, but she was a damn sight more interested in him that she was Ginger. Yet, marriage among their peerage was rarely about love if there was not money to be gained; one must have a comfortable income. Nina of all ladies was no stranger to the finer things in life, she thrived on high-life experiences, and to have these be deprived would be most beastly for her.

And he was rather fond of her, perhaps not in the husbandly way, but she was a comfort to have near, nostalgic. Perhaps they could learn to love each other in time. Or learn to pretend. It wasn’t as though he was all that eligible, and to be quite honest all that interested in the current wave of eligible women, despite what Adam may write in the _Excess_.

And, oh, the things he’d experienced in the East, his respectability long gone, the things no woman could teach him. He shook himself of the thought, his mind having wandered to the chap he’d met at the airship and his rather divine blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, and kudosed, I am so glad you like the not-so-unlikely pair of Ginger and Miles as much as I do!
> 
> Also I wanted to keep to the style of Vile Bodies, that less descriptive screenplay-like flow, but I think certainly in the beach scene a bit of my own style slipped in, oh well

Chance had rather been his friend of late, what with his reintroduction to Nina and his sudden thrusting into the exciting side of society, and this was the first thought that struck him when he stepped out of his tailor’s and into the path of one Miles Maitland.

He was dressed down today, though his leather jacket was still inordinately stylish with a popped collar. His suit was plain brown, his shirt stark white, his lilac checked tie the only colour aside from the same shade on his lids. But despite the relative plainness of his attire, Ginger thought he looked striking.

“Why, Ginger, is that you?”

“Miles, good chap, jolly good to see you!” he said, “What brings you to Mayfair?”

“Oh, I had a note to drop off at my club in Soho and quite thought I’d stop at Gunter’s while I was in the area.” Miles said, and was it Ginger or was he leaning closer? No matter, he thought, _Mr Chatterbox_ was nowhere about at present, and it was hardly a crime for two pals to eat together. Despite the thoughts he may harbour for the dear fellow before him.

“Oh topping, I’m yet to go to lunch myself, would you very much mind some company, dear chap?”

“You quite read my mind, darling, that would be divine.”

Miles looped his arm through Ginger’s and together they took the short walk along Savile Row, past the grand hotels that had sprung up after the war, through the gates of Berkeley Square, and across to the tea shop. They chatted idly and just as easily as they had on their previous meeting, though neither mentioned Tiger, and Ginger was most glad for it.

Ginger held the door open for his companion, and together they were seated at a table in the back corner. It was past one, the few remaining patrons well into their meals, and they spoke quietly, intimately to each other so as not to disrupt the hush.

“Would it be beastly of me to order a coffee in a teashop?” Miles asked offhandedly as he perused the menu.

“I didn’t know you were quite so worried about appearing beastly, my dear chap.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I aspire to be as beastly as possible.”

Ginger laughed a little too loudly, drawing a few eyes, but he ignored them in favour of looking at his companion, “Then I suppose coffee is quite apt. Though, you know, I mean I’m sure a Gin Rickey would be far more fun.”

“Gin, at four o’clock, I say darling, you do have the most divine ideas!” Miles smiled at him, and Ginger was quite lost in it.

They ended up with a selection of cakes and confections between them and did indeed order cocktails. The waiter seemed nonplussed, no doubt used to the whims of their social class.

“Think of those ghastly Americans deprived of such a mid-afternoon luxury,” Miles said, sipping his drink elegantly, “I think I would go quite mad.”

“I tell you what, you know, I hear they have quite the underground party scene over there and all that.” Ginger bit into a lavender macaroon.

“Oh yes, brewing ‘moonshine’ in bathtubs, how delightfully savage!” Miles sampled a spoonful of lemon sorbet, licking the back of the spoon rather indecently, “Though all this talk of Americans does remind me, this absurd American woman I met the other night is going to quite the party on Tuesday, and you’ll never guess where. No, no, you really will never. It’s a beach party in Essex, near this tiny little village no less.”

“A beach party? Can’t say I’ve ever been to one of those. I rather think the climate here is unsuited for it, you know.”

“Oh no, apparently they’re going to have a bonfire too,” he finished off his cocktail and Ginger automatically raised a hand to indicate another to the waiter, “I do so wish I could go.”

Ginger looked up at that, “Why, I mean, why ever can’t you?”

For the first time, Miles seemed to hesitate, then sighed and deflated a little as if in resignation, “Oh darling, it’s ever such a fuss. Tiger’s been sour ever since I had to move from Hertford Street. He’s been such a brute, you wouldn’t believe. He said to me, just the other morning, ‘Miles, do be quiet, you always give me such headaches’. The beastliness of it,” he calmed from where he had riled himself up, “And now, well, he’s gone off, taken his car to some track in Paris for a week, with barely a by-your-leave. I’m quite devoid of a ride now, you see.”

“Damn it, I mean to say, how rotten of him! Though I assumed you had a car of your own, you know?”

“Oh, I did, only it was a blasted thing and is now quite broken. Tiger’s been quite the darling chauffeuring me around, even if he does love ghastly speeds. Now I’m confined to London for the foreseeable future, but for the train, how hellish!””

“Well, hang it all, if he so wishes to abandon you, then shall simply have to take you myself. I happen to be in the possession of quite a fine motorcar, you know. I mean to say, suppose I drove you to Essex, I mean?”

“Darling,” Miles’ previously fretting expression had melted into fondness, “I thought you said the climate wouldn’t agree with you?”

“That was before you mentioned the bonfire, dear chap. Yes, I do think with you as company it will be more than agreeable, you know.” Ginger said, not quite meeting Miles’ eyes at the admission.

The party was a few days later, and Ginger happily picked Miles up from Shepheard’s, after which they had the most pleasant drive. They seemed to mesh so well, Ginger thought, conversation between them easy and free-flowing. He was quite disappointed when the signposting for Wrabness, then Little Oakley began to appear along the roadside.

“Miles, wherever did you hear about this party?” he asked, noting the significant lack of people as they approached the beach.

“I told you, an American. She was quite adamant it was the place to be!”

“And you mean to say she was hosting?”

“It certainly seemed so, she did rather go on about the whole affair.”

“Well I hate to be a spoilsport, but, I mean, I daresay there’s no-one here!” he peered out over the beach through his windscreen as he parked up, and frowned at a low light flickering a small distance away, “Is that the bonfire? Why, look there, it looks to be no more than a few pieces of wood and some embers!”

Miles pouted and crossed his arms, “I do hope this isn’t a bust, the number of parties I’ve been to this season that have been dreadfully dull is almost insulting.”

Ginger looked at him curiously, “Miles, my dear chap, you wouldn’t happen to have been reading the _Excess_ of late, by any chance?”

“Well of course, _Mr Chatterbox_ has the most divine gossip. Though I can’t say green bowler hats will ever adorn my head. How ghastly.”

“Oh dear, why, damn it, Miles I can’t believe Adam didn’t tell you!” Ginger frowned, “ _Adam_ is _Mr Chatterbox._ He’s had quite the riot pulling everyone’s leg with his tales, you know. I mean, he wrote quite a deal of nonsense about me, too. I suspect that your friend from across the pond must have indulged in his column too, if this turn-out means anything.”

“Well, really! How terribly beastly of him not to tell me! How ever did you know?”

“Almost the same as you, dear chap, I toddled off to the Casanova Hotel hoping for a good time and all that, you see what I mean, and well, I mean you never saw a place so dull. I was telling Adam as much when I came across him later, and he was quite amused.”

“I must say, it is rather amusing, once one really thinks of it. Oh, Adam as _Mr Chatterbox_! How terribly exciting. You don’t suppose he would like some real chatter, do you? Only my brother is engaged, would you believe it, to Lady Ursula!”

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him, but I’m sure the _Excess_ would pay handsomely for the story.”

“Don’t worry, Edward is unbelievably dull, you really aren’t at a loss for never had met him.” Miles said, both of them watching as the flames of the bonfire seemed to lick a little higher, “Well, this is most likely to be a bust then if Adam was writing about.”

“Most unfortunately, damn it. But I mean we’ve driven all this way, may as well venture down to see the so-called party.”

“I’m ever so glad you decided to bring some champagne yourself, darling, can you imagine the bore it would be to do all this sober!” Miles said as he climbed out of the car, adjusting the lay of his over-large coat. His tie, more of an ascot at present, was green spotted, the shirt plain, and he had popped the collar of the glen check blazer. He’d worn a stylish newsboy cap to match, and Ginger was most dismayed at the hiding of his hair. His eyes were lidded with green, too, framed wonderfully with the deep black mascara and, though Ginger knew little of make-up, seemed to pair well with the red of his lips.

He was definitely a stark contrast to Ginger, who was once again wearing a simple grey suit, though he had chanced a striped tie that he was most pleased matched Miles’ own in colouring. He imagined they looked quite the pair together, arm in arm.

The party, if it could even be called that, was indeed an invention of Adam’s, with barely ten people around the meagre bonfire. There was something to be said for the obvious illegality of the fire in making the gathering just a little more than total wash-out, but the company was certainly lacking. Adam and Nina of course had not appeared, and indeed Miss Runcible, Miss Mouse and her Maharajah, and Mr Schwert were not to be seen. Miles’ dreadful American was there, her strong accent and loud laugh carrying across the sand as they approached, as well as, oh how dull, Miss Brown and one of her tittering companions, Miss Collins.

The beach seemed most devoid of alcohol, one bottle being passed among the few party-goers, and Ginger smiled as he noticed Miles concealing their own bottle just under his coat.

Miss Brown must have spotted them, for she clapped her hands excitedly and hurried towards them, dragging Miss Collins along with her, “Miles!” she greeted like an old friend, “How darling to see you, isn’t this just divine? And Ginger, isn’t it? We met at the dirigible party, remember? How lovely! Let me present Miss Collins, Mandy to you and me, of course.”

“Miss Brown, how charming,” Ginger said, greeting her a kiss to the hand, “And Miss Collins too,” he greeted her in much the same way. He hoped that the formal use of their name would deter them in some fashion, but if anything Miss Collins just looked at him besotted.

Miles pressed a faux kiss to each woman’s cheek, “Miss Brown, Miss Collins.”

It soon became apparent that Miss Brown was the sort to recount past parties to whoever would listen, embellishing them with rather more excitement than they had ever been, even to those who had been present themselves. She considered the small gathering at Number 10 that had caused quite the scandal to not only be the highlight of the party scene, but also to have elevated her social standing. It was a shame that she quite misunderstood what exactly made a person likeable among the Bright Young Things.

“Oh Ginger it was quite the party, you rather missed out!” Jane said excitedly, though Ginger was more focused on Miles a short distance away, impatience evident on his face as Miss Collins blushed red and stuttered through small talk, “We drank brandy straight out of the decanter, it was most uncouth, then Miles played the piano on the second floor past midnight no less! I hear there was even naughty salt about.”

Ginger could tell from the odd tone of those words that she didn’t quite know what ‘naughty salt’ actually was. Poor girl.

She continued, “Agatha - oh, you may know her as Miss Runcible – was wearing this divine Hawaiian costume and stayed the night, but Papa got quite the shock when she accidentally burst into his study! Oh, just imagine the sight of him at his desk and a strange woman in a grass skirt pops in, how amusing!”

“Oh yes,” Ginger said distractedly, watching as Miles shook off Miss Collins and escaped into the small crowd of others, taking a large but subtle swig of champagne as he went, straight from the bottle, “I do believe I read about it in the paper.”

“Oh, in the _Excess_ no doubt. Mama won’t allow it in the house after their coverage of us, but I am sure to sneak in a copy when I can,” she said, proud of her little defiance against her mother, “I have read the most wonderful things about you too, Ginger. They say you’re a Captain?”

He grimaced more than smiled, “You can’t believe everything you read in the papers, unfortunately. Why, I mean to say if they were all true I’d be engaged to six separate ladies.”

Miss Brown seemed to light up, and angled herself more towards him, “So you remain eligible?”

Ginger cursed himself, hoping this line of questioning would end soon, “Well, I mean, it would be most improper of me to say, you know,” he tried, “before any official announcement is made.”

Thankfully Miss Brown was deterred, though just as he planned to depart from her company, she began another thread of conversation, and he bemoaned the fact he was most devilishly sober.

Later in the night, when the moon was cresting, Miles found him once more and, words quiet and lips pressed close to Ginger’s ear, said, “Ginger, darling, do let’s get away!”, his breath was warm and sweet from the champagne, “I quite thought Miss Collins was bad, but these others are worse. Especially that Mr Porcin, what a hellish man,”

Ginger had to agree. After finally shaking off Miss Brown, he had managed to meet Miles briefly, where he became in most divine possession of the remaining half bottle of champagne, yet it seemed hardly enough when he entered the company of the beastly Mr Porcin.

He was as piggish as him name would suggest. Not knowing that Miles and Ginger had arrived as companions, he had saw fit to comment on all aspects of Miles’ rather eccentric attire while Miles was engaged with Miss Aster, and had made rather unsubtle allusions to exactly what institution he thought Miles should be in. Perhaps he had thought it a safe comment, being that the law was most certainly on his side, but it certainly did not endear him to Ginger. Luckily Mr Porcin seemed to have angered others too, thinking himself most droll to say the most disparaging things about everyone in attendance as soon as they had turned their back, not to mention his rather brutish opinions on suffragism he couldn’t wait to voice. Even the rather affable Miss Brown was wearing a frown.

“I quite agree, dear chap,” Ginger replied to Miles, “Why, what a waste of a drive, though I must just say the journey was the most pleasant part of this shambles of an evening.”

“Well, no need to waste a trip to the sea, what do you say we talk a stroll? There seems to be a quiet stretch just past those rocks.” Miles said, already grabbing him by the wrist with cold, delicate hands and leading him away from the others who were gathered around where a blushing Miss Collins was incorrectly reciting a poem.

It was dark, and they could barely see the fire from where the beach had curved, but the moonlight reflected on the edge of the water as the pair sat down onto the cold sand. He had Miles pinned as a fast fellow, always after excitement and a thrill, but where earlier he had been delving into his compact while surrounded by the other guests, here he sat quiet and serene.

“Something has to be said of such a charming sight, does it not?” Ginger said, leaning back on his hands, fingers half-buried in the sand, arm behind Miles close enough to feel his warmth. Miles’ profile looked most divine from this angle.

“I suppose it does,” he replied, a relaxed smile on his lips.

They were quiet for a stretch. Ginger watched the waves, a memory stirring, “You know, back in Ceylon it wasn’t always actions stations, and often we were quite close to the beach,” he said, “I wasn’t actually the Captain, no matter what _Mr Chatterbox_ insinuated, but I was a Lieutenant and sometimes we’d have authorisation to enjoy ourselves, as a matter of fact, and I mean some of the chaps and I would have a jolly good time cooling off in the sea,” he looked out across the horizon, remembering Kavanagh in much the same light as they were now, waves dampening the hem of his shorts, socks, shoes, and shirt discarded in the dunes. Ginger had always felt rather delicate compared to the rest of his troop, and with Kavanagh it had been no different, dark haired and well built, strong jaw peppered with stubble.

“I quite imagine! The summers in the Provence were unbearable without a lovely dip in the ocean, never mind over in the Orient,” Miles said.

“Say, what if we went for a dip now?”

“Heavens, the water must be close to freezing, darling!”

“Only up to our ankles, dear chap, it shan’t be too cold.”

Miles turned to face him, resting one hand in the sand, a sly smile on his lips, “I’m sure you were the one to complain of the temperature, Ginger dear.”

“I mean, well, Miles, that was then, this is now, you know what I mean? And I do say that champagne has given me quite the liquor blanket.” Ginger grinned, sitting up and reaching down to unlace his brogues, unclipping his garters and rolling down the hose. The sand felt strange between his toes, but most refreshing for one whose feet had been confined for so long.

Miles extended the leg closest to Ginger pointedly, resting back on his elbows. Ginger looked at him appraisingly, before moving to kneel before his feet, trousers most terribly coated in sand. Miles was wearing leather two-tones, the laces rough as he unknotted them carefully, revealing the softest pink cashmere socks. He paused, head bowed and fringe hanging loose, but eyes lingering on Miles’ face. The air suddenly became rather thick.

He ran a finger first along the clothed arch of the left foot, other digits following until the heel was cupped in him palm. His other hand trailed up his leg, under the cream wool flannel. It crept higher, like the tide across the sand, before skin brushed against skin. Savouring the soft warmth for only a moment, he trailed his index finger along the edge of the hose, meeting the striped elastic, up, and up again to the hook, which unfastened with a soft click.

He moved to the next foot in much the same fashion, only he stopped once skin met. This time he did not head for the elastic, instead sweeping the trouser leg up to reveal pale skin, soft dark hairs, defined but delicate muscle.

He felt wild. The dark made it so, he was sure. Under the blanket of the stars he was shrouded.

He only hovered close at first, breath quivering the hairs, before he touched a cheek to his knee, the brush of his nose, the lingering of his lips against the flesh. Under the illusion of his initial intension to remove the garter, his fingers fiddled with the latches, even as Miles rested his own palm against Ginger’s hair, sitting up as far as he was able.

How far it would have gone there on the beach, neither knew, but a squeal of beastly happiness carried over from the bonfire and broke their spell. The hand receded from his hair, but Ginger kept his cheek close, ostensibly to avoid their eyes meeting, but truly because he could not bear to break apart prematurely. He deftly removed the remaining garter and sock, slipping the garments into the discarded shoes.

Climbing to his feet, he took both of Miles’ hands in his and pulled him upright. Miles was close now, their hands not quite interlinked but warmth between them. The smile he wore was small but fond, and Ginger quickly extracted himself lest he do something else ill-advised, but not quite regretful.

Covering the action with words, he turned towards the ebbing tide, “Well, yes, I suppose it best to be getting on before the tide comes in.”

He strode to the edge of the water, only remembering to roll up his slacks as the water splashed them, watching from his periphery as Miles, now halfway to the shore, rolled up his own. The sea enveloped his feet, and he cursed lowly as the cold shocked him. Laughing at the simple joy of a childish wade, he faced his companion the short distance away. The champagne they’d shared hadn’t nearly been enough for them to be too drunk, but Ginger certainly felt that he was as he looked at the charmed smile on Miles’ face.

“Having fun, darling?” he grinned, coat and, thankfully, hat now shucked off in a pile by their shoes. His hair was just a little windswept, Ginger noticed, as he ambled forwards with his hands in his pockets, disrupting sand as he went.

“I’m sure I’d be having a lot more if you joined me,” Ginger said.

“You aren’t going to splash me, are you?” Miles asked teasingly, finally stepping into the water. He jerked a little at the cold, water flying a few feet short of where Ginger stood.

Ginger watched its arc pointedly, then grinned, “Are you?”

“Hmm, I haven’t quite decided if I’m feeling devilish or divine today,” Miles said, drawing closer, “Which do you prefer?”

“You know, I rather think you’re devilishly divine, dear chap.”

Miles looked exceptionally pleased, “Well in that case, darling, I shall simply have to accept the devilish side and look divine while doing so.”

“Then I shall simply have to take my punishment dutifully,” Ginger said with exaggerated solemnness and a barely restrained gin.

“Now, where to target?” Miles considered. He bent low and cupped water into his hands, letting it drain until they were barely dripping wet, “You know, I have longed to see your hair less prim and proper. Allow me,” he said triumphantly, depositing the remaining water right onto Ginger’s scalp.

Ginger yelped but was in good humour; the water was not in large enough volume to drip to his clothes, instead it was just enough to disrupt the straightness in which he combed it into each day, “Miles!” he positively giggled.

Miles brushed back the severe fringe, sweeping it off his face, “There we go, I’ve been wanting to do that for an age! You always hide those handsome features behind that dreadful fringe. You really would benefit from styling it like this.”

“With seawater? I simply must relocate then, if you think it looks good.”

“Good? Why you look simply charming. And no, not with seawater you silly darling. I’ll buy you some hair slick myself, if I must,” he ran a damp hand through his own curls, “I’ve quite been meaning to buy some for myself.”

“Whatever for, dear chap?” Ginger said, most affronted, “You don’t mean to say you wish to slick your hair?”

“Do you not think I’d suit it?” Miles frowned, “It’s very en vogue, you know.”

“I mean, I’m sure you could pull off any look, Miles, but, you see, it would be most criminal to hide those wonderful curls.”

“You like them? Really?” he said it with almost disbelief, “Tiger never has, he says they make me look... well that they give off the wrong impression.”

“Then I daresay Tiger is a damnable fool,” Ginger said rather boldly, “In fact I find your hair jolly lovely.”

“You are the sweetest thing, Ginger darling.” Miles said fondly. He came close, and then pressed a careful kiss to Ginger’s cheek. Spotting the red stain it left, Miles brought his hand up to the skin, and brushed it away with a firm stroke of his thumb. He left his hand there when he was finished, eyes flicking from Ginger’s own to his lips.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Ginger said, gently dislodging the palm, panic creeping up. This was most unwise. It didn’t matter what he thought, or what he wanted, or what he desired, he was not in a position to pursue them without drastic consequence. He could not afford to forget that, even as Miles stood so temptingly before him.

He had begun to step back to the shore, but Miles stopped him.

“Oh no, Ginger, let’s not yet!” Miles pleaded, “I thought we were having a most lovely time.”

“I imagine we can have just as good fun on dry land,” Ginger said, though he stopped his retreat, “a lot warmer too.”

“But it’s so refreshing! And I don’t imagine I’ll have chance to go to the beach again anytime soon,” Miles pouted, “I know, how about we dance, that’d be sure to perk us up!”

“In the waves, dear chap?”

“Where else?”

Ginger was primed to say no, the words almost leaving his lips. But he made the mistake of looking at Miles once more, that beautiful, hopeful, sinful face, his eyes always so bright and earnest. He could say yes, just to an innocent dance. He could indulge Miles and keep his own composure, it didn’t have to mean anything more than he allowed it to.

“Oh, alright then, I do hope it can bring back the feeling in my toes.”

“Oh, how divine,” Miles cheered, “Now, if only we had some music!”

“Let’s just imagine there is,” he said. He schooled his features into a serious expression, but amusement was rich in his eyes, “Mr Maitland, may I have this dance?”

“I suppose I can spare a moment,” his eyes sparkled.

Assuming a hold with one arm around Miles’ waist and the other clasped in his own, they fumbled through an unsteady waltz through the waves, laughing together as their slacks soon became drenched to the knees, their shirts speckled with drops of seawater.

By the time they slowed, both men were shivering minutely, but could not find regret within them. Ginger was no longer sure why he had even thought about protesting.

Not bothering to put on their shoes once more, they walked with sand laden feet back to the embering bonfire, pleased to see that the party had disbanded, and they were quite alone.

He had supposed the drive back to London would be rife with tension, but soon after their departure Miles drowsily laid his head upon Ginger’s shoulder, not yet sleeping but certainly close. It wasn’t too long to London, but Ginger was worn-out himself, and thought it wise to stop off before he drifted off the road. It wasn’t far to Chelmsford, and soon they were parked on the high-street before a mediocre looking hotel, the Saracen’s Head Hotel.

There was a bar below the rooms, which was thankfully still open despite the late hour, and with only mild persuasion they were able to secure two rooms in what must have been a sparsely populated hotel. He saw Miles off to his own room, a fond ‘Goodnight’ and brief touch of hands before the door closed on him and he headed off to his own bed.

In the morning, after he had redressed in the suit, wrinkled and smelling of the sea, he stared at his reflection in the dresser mirror. His hair had become ruffled in the night but had dried in the same swept back style Miles had bestowed upon him. Even if he wanted to comb it back into place, he hadn’t brought anything to do so, not anticipating their lay-over.

He supposed he looked less severe this way. More stylish. And besides, Miles had said he looked good. Had even called his face handsome.

He used his fingers to tease the hair into a more orderly fashion, flattened more, though a cowlick unfortunately still remained, then gathered his coat and wallet before slipping from the room.

Miles was waiting for him in the foyer, remarkably well put together. He had divested himself of his coat and cap, the former thrown artfully over his arm and the latter in the same hand. He’d somehow fashioned the ascot into a large bow, the collar of the blazer flat today. To Ginger it almost seemed he had sourced another outfit.

His face, however, was not adorned with the bright make-up Ginger was used to seeing, instead it was faded colours from yesterday, his lips subtle pink, lids barely even coloured, though his eyes retained some of the black liner. He’d combed his hair out a little, probably to style what surely would have been a mess when he woke, and the curls were just a little frayed and frizzy. Ginger thought he looked delightfully soft. Rumpled and sleepy was a good look on him.

“Ginger darling, you kept your hair!” Miles smiled, “I’m afraid we’ve missed breakfast, though we could always treat ourselves to brunch.”

“Brunch sounds topping, shall we head off?” Ginger said, impulsively placing a hand at the small of Miles’ back.

It being such a beautiful morning, Ginger left the roof down, wind messing their hair as they laughed their way south. They found an upscale café in Brentwood of all places and treated themselves to generous helpings of bacon and eggs, washed down with a rather exotic blend of coffee. They would brush hands over the table every so often, and towards the end of their meal Miles let his ankle rest, just rest, against Ginger’s lower knee. He would happily spend the rest of his days driving with Miles, stopping at each café they fancied, touring the fanciest and dullest hotels alike. But soon enough they were paying the bill, and back into the Mercedes, heading for London.

It was early afternoon before they pulled up to Shepheard’s. He didn’t want to part with Miles. In fact, he was ready to ask him to afternoon tea, to dinner, to let him come inside, but Miles spoke before he could voice it.

“Oh, Tiger’s back,” Miles said, spotting the trim sports saloon parked on the street.

Ginger wasn’t sure what to make of his tone, but he frowned nonetheless; he had quite forgotten about Tiger during their time together, bar his brief mention at the beach. He wanted to feel guilt at the closeness they had shared, but he recalled Miles’ words, and Tiger’s behaviour at the airship and found he couldn’t muster up the feeling.

“Ah, well, I mean to say, you’re still welcome to ride with me regardless,” Ginger said, “I had a most enjoyable time.”

“You’re ever so kind, Ginger,” Miles said with more seriousness than he’d previously encountered, and he quite thought that this must be what he was really like without the carefully polished veneer, quiet, sincere, contemplative.

“Only to those deserving of it, I must say,” he replied in earnest.

They looked at each other for a long moment and, just for a tick, Ginger was sure Miles was leaning closer, but within a blink his hand was on the door latch and his foot out the door, “I do hope to see you again, darling,” he said, one last look, and removed himself from the car.

As Miles was exiting, a rather familiar man came sweeping through the doors of the Shepheard, cigarette in between his lips.

“Miles!” he said, before noticing the car, “Oh hullo, I say, what a beauty!”

“Yes, I quite think I am,” Miles smiled, “I thought you were in Paris for another week, Tiger?”

“Not you, the car,” Tiger, Ginger belatedly realised, said distractedly, skimming a hand across the paintwork. He looked to Ginger still seated behind the wheel, “She yours?”

“Yes, bought her just last month, you know, Mercedes Benz.” He said, looking to Miles, before himself getting out of the car.

“My, what a beauty,” Tiger said again, “You taking her to Long Eaton?”

“Oh, yes, I mean, just to spectate, you understand. Miles tells me you’re racing?”

“Indeed I am. I’ve got a Riley Brooklands myself, modified, of course,” he said, gesturing to the car a short distance away. He turned back to Ginger, squinting at him a little, “Do I know you?”

Miles spoke up then, clearing his throat as though he didn’t think he’d be heard otherwise, “Tiger, this is Ginger Littlejohn. Ginger, Tiger LaBouchere.”

“Ginger, eh? Yes, I’ve seen your name in that awful paper Miles likes,” he said, barely even acknowledging Miles. He took a drag from his cigarette, “Where have you two been off to? You’re rather made-up today Miles.”

Miles smiled weakly, a far cry from the beautiful smile he’d had all morning, “He gave me a ride to that party I mentioned last week. Ginger is a friend of Nina’s.”

“Hmm, you were at the airship, weren’t you?” he said to Ginger suddenly, “Thought I recognised your face.”

Ginger did not miss the hardening of his tone, or the way he tilted into Miles’ space, “Ah, yes, I mean to say, well, I don’t believe we had the pleasure of speaking then, unfortunately.”

“Yes, as I recall you were rather busy,” he said purposefully.

Ginger’s eyes met Miles, but soon he looked away, and Ginger felt his heart sink, “Indeed, you know, as a matter of fact, I’m rather busy now too, I should be heading off. Thank you for joining me, Miles. Jolly good to meet you, Tiger.”

Tiger watched him as he got back into the car. Miles watched him too, but with rather more fondness than his companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent too long researching the type of socks (or hosiery I guess) that 1920 men would wear and let’s all thank history that hose garters meant the sensual sock removal was conceived. I now have a video called ‘how to use your sock garter’ in my youtube history, thanks Evelyn Waugh. 
> 
> I tried to not to be too harsh on Tiger, since he’s not really mentioned in the book as anything (aside from Miles calling him heartless, though he says it more swooningly and dramatically than anything else) so I took some liberties... also I needed a reason for Miles to be a bit less invested in the relationship 
> 
> I also tried to find the origin of the term ‘beer blanket’ or ‘alcohol coat’ or ‘liquor blanket’ (literally for one line that I’m sure no-one even noticed more than passingly) but couldn’t find it, and I assume that some form of the phrase must have existed – if you know, hmu


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later than I’d planned, I quite suddenly got into Richard II and have been thinking of little else than his truly glorious hair for the past week. And oh Aumerle, my tender-hearted darling, that twist from the original was cruel but I loved it  
> And wouldn't you know, Richard II was quoted in Chapter 12, which I've stolen for a similar quoting (and which Ginger still mistakenly attributes to a poem)
> 
> This is dedicated to one of my favourite lines Miles says; ‘“Motor men are heartless,” said Miles, with a sigh.’  
> We stan a dramatic bitch. 
> 
> I recently saw a gif of Miles giving Tiger his coat and stroking his hair at the motor race which I missed on first watching and my original idea of them mostly just being sort-of-friends-with-benefits (at least for my narrative, I think original book is not expanded enough to know) took a back seat for a passionate relationship (young love maybe?) that burned out, but where both were scared of leaving someone who had been a constant for so long, and perhaps Miles not even realising what was missing until he found it again with Ginger
> 
> And yes, I know I said this would be the last chapter, but it was nearing on 8k without half this chapter and in the interest of my sanity I decided to split it 
> 
> Timeline; in the book there are ten days between the race and the scene at the hospital, after which Adam and Nina meet for the first time since her engagement. In the movie this is where Miles tells everyone about his warrant, but in the book it’s just an ordinary visit – so for this chapter, the book meeting happens around day 4/5/6 and then the movie scene happens and plays out exactly as we saw on day 10.

He met with Nina a few days on, a simple afternoon tea and subsequent drinks, but daren’t mention his outing with Miles. Nina talked much of Adam, and eventually mentioned his visit to her father and having to cover Adam’s column in the _Excess_ and asked if he would be such an angel as to help her. It certainly wasn’t a hardship, and he agreed readily, rather pleased that if word did circulate about his actions in the _Excess_ he could at least vet them.

As it was, Nina seemed to already have a story, and had met with Miles earlier for lunch and procured the story of Edward’s engagement, so Ginger had little to do to help, other than to act as an editor. He assumed that from Nina’s lack of questioning that Miles did not mention their time together either, and Ginger didn’t know whether to be grateful or disheartened. 

She asked if he wanted to join Adam and her at the Café de la Paix, but he chose to decline, not wanting to intrude on their happiness. He knew Adam liked him, mostly, but he suspected that he was wary of any affections Nina might hold for him. Or affections for the lifestyle he could provide for her, at least. He wished he could say there was nothing to worry about. But with the increasing hints at Adam’s tumultuous financial state, he quite suspected that Nina had him scouted as the next best thing to love. And as much as he wished he could be as free in his affections as Miles, he doubted he would ever have the courage to do so. He would have to marry sooner or later, and if it was not to a love than at least it could be with a friend.

It was only the next day that Nina had called him again.

Ginger felt terribly that Adam had gotten fired because of his and Nina’s mistake, but was more worried of who the new _Mr Chatterbox_ would be. With Adam he at least knew when to hide any exploitable proclivities, though dear Adam never had written anything shaming about him even when he was writing those silly mistruths, but now how was he to know if his actions were being scrutinized too closely.

Miles at least had the luxury of being on Lord Monomark’s blacklist, afforded some freedom over his reputation, but Ginger could be ruined. For suing them for libel could only benefit if there was no proof and, discrete as he may try to be now, he couldn’t be sure that past indiscretions would not come to light. An age old worry stirred in him, the familiar choking fear that would rise in him after his encounters with Robbie in the beach hut, or the horse shed, or even the time they had quietly snuck off to his quarters. Weeks of worry between each tumble, sure that one of his troop was looking at him with too much weight to not know about Kavanagh. He thought to the single letter he had written once he was reassigned to Kandy, and of the stark lack of reply.

He’d not heard from him since his farewell dinner, did not know if he was living or dead, did not know if he kept that small slip of a letter, heavy with words of intent, if he thought back upon those nights favourably or with resentment.

Then, of course, more recently, he’d acted positively depraved with Miles, on a public beach no less! He would love to blame it solely on the champagne, especially when recalling the boldness of his kissing his way up Miles’ leg. But he could not deny his sober thoughts the next day, the desires he had as he watch Miles grin at him from the passenger seat. The dreams he’d had since, of slipping into Miles’ room at the Saracen’s Head in the dead of the night, of what may have unfolded had Miles allowed it. Who may have seen them? Who at the party may have noticed the missing pair and gossiped feverishly? Mr Porcin knew of Miles’ lifestyle, it only took a moment to connect the dots.

He agonized about it over a whiskey all evening, but no matter how much his senses dictated he permanently depart from Miles’ company for the sake of his reputation, his heart wanted nothing more than to accept every moment Miles was willing to give him.

Miles telegrammed him the day after, a simple request to take him up on the offer of a drive that afternoon. Ginger dragged his thumb across the printed initial, following the curls of the vowels, and the sharpness of the consonants.

He dismissed any fleeting thought of the foolishness of accepting, abruptly deciding he had listened to his head on far too many occasions, and besides today it was pounding worse than his heart was, and that perhaps it was time he entertained his heart after all.

So, tellingly, despite his earlier reservations and his mild hangover, he accepted.

As he picked him up from the hotel, he noted that Tiger’s car was gone again, and felt a little disheartened that he only seemed to be a last resort. Miles seemed happy though, his eyes even brighter with the blue shadow.

“Where to, dear chap?” Ginger asked him.

“I discovered a delightful oyster bar on Tottenham Court Road the other day, only three and six a dozen, you know.”

He looked at him surprised, “I hadn’t you pegged for a budgeting man.”

“I’ve had need for it of late, the Shepheard being as expensive as it is, and Tiger’s preparations for Long Eaton keep adding up. It’s quite the habit now. But soon...” he paused, eyes alight, “Oh, I simply cannot keep the news to myself any longer.”

“Dear chap, I dare say I’ve never seen so you bursting, I do hope this news is good,” Ginger said.

Miles looked positively brimming with excitement now, “Oh it’s simply divine! Well, unfortunate news for Adam of course, but he was fired from the _Excess_ , terrible shame for him, but oh darling they asked me to be the new _Mr Chatterbox_!”

“How topping!” Ginger smiled broadly, sudden relief loosening his shoulders, “You wouldn’t believe the worry I’ve had not knowing, I mean, who to look out for and all that.”

Miles tilted his head, giving him a look with a peculiar smile, “You’ve no need to worry, darling. I quite think I’ll keep up with Adam’s run. Though Lord Monomark was very clear I was not to write about green bowler hats.”

“You shall have to invent your own trend,” Ginger said.

“What a marvellous idea!” he sat up most suddenly, eyes following passers-by, “Pink berets? No, too similar. Orange trousers?”

“Perhaps too noticeable to disprove,” Ginger mused, “How about yellow brogues?”

“Oh, I could just see Archie in them now!” Miles said, clutching onto Ginger’s arm, “You do have the most darling ideas.”

“Good of you to say so, my dear boy, I mean, truly, thank you,” he smiled, “You know, I say this calls for a celebration, does it not? No need to be so economical today. I mean to say, if you are to have oysters, you simply have to have them at Wiltons, my treat.”

“Wiltons! I daresay you spoil me, Ginger.”

“Nonsense, it’s surely well deserved,” he said, turning the car onto Piccadilly, and then onto St James’.

It was rather excessive making such a short distance in his car, but Ginger thought Miles deserved the grand entrance. Once they pulled up to Wiltons, Ginger opened the door for Miles and took his arm as he escorted him to the door, Miles allowing the indulgence with a bit-back smile.

They dined on Oysters Kirkpatrick, and a remarkably outstanding vintage of Chablis from 1906, and talked of little of consequence, but Ginger was positively enchanted. 

“Are you going to Long Eaton tomorrow?” Ginger asked late into their meal, only the dregs of wine between them.

“Oh, not tomorrow, no, Archie’s due to drive Aggie, Adam and I on Thursday.”

“I do hope you’re book your rooms, you’ll be lucky to get one so late, dear chap!” he said, “I wired The Grand a few weeks ago, you know, and was fortunate the get the last one.”

“Oh, not to worry, Tiger is already there, practicing and all, and he got us rooms where he’s staying, a place called the Imperial, I believe.”

Ginger wanted to invite him to drive up with him, but he doubted that Miles would drop his plans so readily, and he imagined Tiger only ensured rooms for Miles’ friends on the account the man himself would be there. He let the idea go, “Well, I do hope to see you there! I mean, I hear there is a marvellous bar at my hotel, you’re welcome to accompany me, I mean to say, your pals too, of course.”

“You are most kind, darling,” Miles said, brushing Ginger’s hand with his own on the tablecloth, before retracting it swiftly, cautious, “That would be the most splendid end to the day.”

Ginger came to the motor race much alone, but hopeful he may encounter some pleasant company. Even if he hadn’t made any specific plans to meet Miles here, he hoped that his agreement to meet at The Grand later was more than just passing politeness.

He found the company sorely lacking, however, with only dreadful old bores around the tent, and even when he ventured down to the stands he saw neither hide nor hair of Miles or his friends. Disheartened, he resigned himself to the most dreadfully boring ordeal of watching the race, most of which was confined to areas of the track unobservable from his position.

It wasn’t until the dreadful incident with car Number 13 and that blasted Italian, Marino, that Ginger perked up, hearing the call of ‘ _Hullo Everybody. No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Mr Tiger LaBouchere came into a collision with spanner unfortunately loosened from No. 28, the Italian Omega car, driven by Captain Marino. No. 13 righted itself, but Mr LaBouchere has been forced to make a pitstop and seek medical attention’._

It was most unfortunate for Tiger of course, but Ginger could only hope that his presence meant that Miles was also nearby.

He was most fortuitous, for he had a clear view of Tiger being helped to the Red Cross tent, Miles dotingly in attendance. Today he was wearing a spectacularly yellow waistcoat, light tan slacks, and another flowery bowtie. He had the coat he had worn to the beach, a red armband on his bicep; Mr LaBouchere must have let them trackside. It was with disappointment he noticed he had covered his hair again with a dark brown hat and covered his hands with thick black driving gloves. He did look most dashing though, even from this distance.

The medical tent wasn’t quite as enforced as the pits were, on hand for the spectators as well as the drivers, so he made his way over to it without worry. There was quite the flurry inside, nurses crowding around the only occupied cot, eager for a chance to treat a rugged dirt-racer, despite his protests that his shoulder was barely bruised. Ginger thought them most foolish, fawning over someone so plain when Miles stood off to the side in all his splendour, gloves now clenched worriedly between his fingers as he watched them poke and prod at his paramour.

He decided to wait outside, propping himself against a close wall and drinking in the occasional glimpses of Miles from where the tent entrance flapped in the breeze. With half an ear he listened to the increasingly odd announcements over the speaker about Miss Runcible, of all people, taking over the car from Tiger, and her surprising skill at it. He was most amused by her record breaking lap, and its subsequent disallowing, and could quite see why Miles was so fond of her.

He could just see a snippet of track from his perch and was sure he caught sight of Number 13 whizzing by and was most distracted listening for another announcement when the sound of the tent opening behind him drew him away. Miles was taking a long drag of a cigarette, looking rather harried, and seemed not to have noticed him.

“Miles, dear chap,” Ginger said, and quite startled him into dropping his cigarette, the red stained butt now resting in the grass.

“Oh Ginger, really!” Miles huffed, stubbing it out beneath his toes, “You are a brute.”

“Damn it, I’m terribly sorry,” Ginger said, sliding out his tin from his pocket, and pulling out one of his own smokes as he walked towards him, “Here,” he placed it between Miles’ lips himself, heartrate rising as he felt a shaky exhale of breathe on his fingers. He fumbled around for his lighter as he spoke, “Is Tiger quite alright?”

“Mmm,” Miles said around the cigarette, as Ginger attempted to light it for him, hand cupped around it to deflect the wind. He brought his own hand up to cover Ginger’s, to steady him, but he was quite sure they were both shaking more. The flame finally caught, but Ginger did not pull back far once their hands dropped. Miles took a long drag, blowing the smoke just to the side of his face so as not to choke him, “He’s in pain, the poor thing. Imagine, throwing a spanner in such a way! Why, that Marino is a cad.”

“I do say, I quite think if they’re going to disallow Miss Runcible’s lap they should disallow Marino altogether.”

“I quite agree, but, oh, Agatha driving, it simply is divine! I was just headed to the post tent to send off the story. I do think I’ll have funds enough to treat you to Kettner’s in payment for Wilton’s.”

“Oh, my dear fellow, you needn’t, you know.”

“Oh but darling I would like to!” Miles said, finishing his smoke, “Besides, you’ll never guess what Archie is already wearing.”

“You don’t mean to tell me yellow brogues?” Ginger grinned wide.

Miles nodded, “Yellow brogues!”

Ginger barked out a laugh, sparking Miles’ own, “Oh you are a divine chap!”

Miles laughter quieted, and he looked back to the tent, where they were apparently out of view. Satisfied, he then turned his head to press his lips to the edge of Ginger’s mouth, “I shall see you later, my dear.”

Ginger watched him go with a racing heart.

He had made his way giddily back up to the drinks tent when the third announcement regarding Miss Runcible sounded out across the course.

_‘Hullo, everybody, No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse car, driven by Miss Agatha, has retired from the race. It disappeared from the course some time ago, turning left instead of right at Church Corner, and was last seen proceeding south on the bye-road, apparently out of control.’_

Oh, how amusing Miss Runcible was, it seemed quite like her to depart the middle of a race on a whim, though he did hope she hadn’t been too much at Miles’ compact before the race. Well, this would certainly be a story for Miles, what luck he had. Perhaps not so much for Tiger, who he was sure would not be pleased at the vanishing of his car.

He had planned to head back to the medical tent after a drink or two, but quite vexingly he had been dragged into a conversation with a group of older gentlemen who wanted to recount to him their deeds during the war and how his generation were most selfish and spoiled. He tried to slink off several times, but as more drink settled in them they become quite overly friendly with casual arms thrown across his shoulders in comradery, especially after he had let slip he had served himself in Ceylon. In fact by the time they were too drunk to sit straight, the race was over and ‘God Save the King’ rousingly sung. 

If it weren’t for his brief, but lovely, encounter with Miles, he would have thought this day a waste. As it was though, he could never regret the feel of Miles lips on his skin, lips so close to his own, breath hot and smoky and wonderful mixing with his. He practically floated about the rest of the course, hoping for another meeting with Miles before he left. The medical tent was now full, and all visitors refused entry to allow for space, so he found himself resigned to not catch another glimpse of Miles there, instead trudging back to his car.

It took him a good hour to get back to his hotel, and the bar was almost too full to even navigate through. He cast one last hopeful look about the place, but it seemed The Grand was more the place for the drunk veterans he’d encountered earlier than it was for his friends. He wasn’t much in the mood for a drink, and instead departed the crowds to sleep off before his drive back to London tomorrow.

Nina rang up Ginger the next afternoon, not long after he’d returned home.

“Ginger, is that you?”

“Nina? Is everything alright?”

“Well, no actually. It’s Adam.”

“Is he quite alright?”

“Yes, yes, only, you know he lost his book, and his income, and father was most unimpressed by him? Well I quite imagined none of that should matter, owing to the fact he was sure his major would come through with his fortune. Rather naïve of both of us, I must say.”

“Why, hang it, am I to assume things with his fellow have gone sour?”

“Quite. And, oh you know he’s such a darling, but I can hardly expect to marry with no means of support. And it’s not as though I’m not fond of you too, darling. I do think we could be quite a match.”

Ginger swallowed, “I mean, don’t suppose Adam will be terribly happy, not that he has a claim, of course, well, I mean to say, it’s of course your choice, but he would rather put out if we were to be engaged.”

“I daresay I’m not entirely happy with Adam for being quite so beastly about his money.”

“Nina, I mean, are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure, if you would ask.”

“Would you prefer in person?”

“No, I quite think over the phone will do. Perhaps we can celebrate over dinner later?”

“I shall take you to the Criterion, then. Would you like a ring and all that?”

“Oh Ginger darling, you’re so sweet. If you wouldn’t mind, a ring would be most divine.”

“Well, Nina, I mean, I suppose I must ask, would you mind terribly if we were married?”

“I shan’t mind too much.”

“Well, I shall see you at dinner, then.”

“Let’s say seven. Good-bye, darling.”

Ginger’s first thought upon his engagement was to call Miles. But as he placed his hand back on the receiver, he found that it appealed less and less. What would Miles think of him deposing his friend in such a way? Of him arriving naught more than a month ago, tearing apart not only Nina and Adam, but acting so shamefully with Miles knowing all along he was with Tiger?

He retracted his hand with a sense of self-loathing that wasn’t entirely new to him.

Deciding is best to confirm their engagement with a ring soon so as to be proper, he swallowed down the wrongness and the guilt and headed to Hatton Garden. It was only among the cases of polished silver and gold that Ginger realised he knew nothing of what Nina would like.

His eyes wandered to the sapphires, picturing how the blue would match the wrong set of eyes, how the silver would look upon pale fingers, the smile that might come to light on that lovely face as he passed the small velvet box to him.

He turned away, instead choosing something gold and gaudy and emerald.

Nina was rather subdued as they dined later that night. She’d called Adam to tell him of her engagement, and he’d understandably been rather cross with her, had told her that he never wanted to see her again. Ginger quite suspected they would meet again within the week but refrained from voicing his opinion.

Instead he moved along and presented the ring to her, which she called divine and donned at once. It was a little large, but he could easily have it resized for her. There were no touches, nothing as intimate as Adam and Nina had been on the balcony of the airship, or as he and Miles had been at breakfast those short days ago. They discussed their marriage much like one would discuss business, and soon it was settled. They would be married within the month.

It wasn’t until he was reading _Mr Chatterbox_ the next evening that he discovered the fate of Miss Runcible. He did hope she was alright, though from Miles’ account she sounded in a dreadful condition, to be in a nursing home.

He decided to send a telegram to check on Miles, knowing Miss Runcible was rather dear to him, and hoping to meet up with him too. He rather wanted to chat with him about Nina, and even if he did become rather upset at him at least it would be a good story for Miles to break.

_Miles Read your column do hope Agatha faring well Lunch meeting at Veeraswamy query Ginger_

It wasn’t long before he received the prompt reply from him accepting.

Ginger did not give him a ride today, the restaurant being so close to both their residences, and instead they met at the entrance after their own brief walk. They spoke a little of Miss Runcible, Miles informing him little more than the paper, for not even the nurses seemed to know her conditions, merely that she had a shock. He bid that Miles passed on his well wishes, but declined Miles’ invitation to visit, citing that he didn’t know her nearly well enough to see her in such a delicate condition.

“I’m ever so glad you asked to meet, Ginger darling,” Miles said as they waited on their meals over a glass of chenin blanc, “I have what I hope will be good news.”

“Oh, how topping, I have some news myself, perhaps something worth a share in _Mr Chatterbox_.”

“Oh, you’ve got me all curious now, dear thing, do go first.”

“Well, I do expect you’ve heard of Adam’s major, yes? Well, he met him at Long Eaton, you may have seen him, but nothing became of it, poor chap, only he’d already telegrammed Nina to say they’d be married the next day,” he said, “By the time he rang her up to tell her the bad news, she was most upset with him, and, well I do say she rather ran out of patience, I mean, rightly so, I say. Poor chap, to miss out so, but you have to see it from Nina’s point of view, of course, waiting all that time.”

“Ginger, I daresay I already knew all of this! Adam lamented so on the journey home, he quite expected she’d be cross with him.”

“Indeed, but Miles there is more,” Ginger said, “Nina rang _me_ up explaining soon after of all this, and well I suppose it was she that proposed it, even if she willed me to propose. So, what I mean to say is that, well, me and Nina are now engaged.”

There was a pause, “Engaged?”

“Quite so. Nina wants to be married by the end of month.”

“Well. How wonderful. Congratulations,” Miles said, but it seemed almost flat, “I’m sure it will make an excellent story.”

“Miles? Are you quite alri-“

They were interrupted by the arrival of their food, which Miles was either insurmountably excited for, or purely grateful for the change of subject.

“Why, isn’t this divine,” Miles said, eating with a hitherto unobserved gusto, “Yes, quite divine.”

Ginger had naught but forked some rice, instead watching Miles with a frown. He cleared his throat, swallowing a mouthful, “You said you had some news of your own?”

“Hmm, oh, yes, well, just that I found a new restaurant, is all,” he said, not meeting his eyes, “A small venture on Clifford Street.”

“Oh, somewhere we ought to try?” Ginger said, picking at his puri, and quickly dabbing up some spilt chutney.

“I’m yet to try it myself, just noticed it as I passed,” he said, “I do believe they serve Italian, one of Nina’s favourites, you know.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Ginger said truthfully. He didn’t say that he really knew so little of her, but that he knew Miles’ favourite wasn’t Italian, or English, or Indian, but French, and not the type you found in London restaurants, but the true French food he’d been served in the Provence. Bouillabaisse made with local fish, escabeche late in the mornings, aioli accompanying grilled rouget. That for all the champagne he drank, all the fancy wines, his favourite drink was a hot coffee, a single cube of sugar, no milk, especially on cold winter mornings, the radio low and soft. That his favourite dessert wasn’t chocolate, or caramel, or pastry, but ice cream, rich and creamy and strawberry flavoured. He didn’t say that he knew Miles loved blue, dark like the sky just before dusk, like the rarest sapphire, like the sea on a sunny day. Nor that he hated the rain, and the cold, that while he dressed so stylishly on outings, he loved nothing better than a warm woollen turtleneck and cashmere socks.

Instead he finished off his food and, for the first time since they met, lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

It had been a fair few days since their meal, and Ginger was more than disheartened that Miles hadn’t seemed to wish to meet with him again. Miles had sent him a telegram the day after to ask if he truly was ok to cover their engagement in the _Excess,_ but when Ginger had sent an invitation along with his confirmation Miles had claimed he already had plans. He supposed that it was Miles’ luck that the telegram didn’t allow for more elaboration without an expense Ginger would not force him to pay.

He knew that Miles may be upset that he’d butted in on Adam, but he didn’t expect that he would be so angry as to cut him off. Part of him hoped it was because Miles had felt something for Ginger too, but it was quickly quashed when he remembered Tiger, that Miles already was happy, or at least happy enough, and that he was probably little more than a rich passing fancy, if that. He didn’t think that Miles would have used him so, often forthright of his opinions of people and intentions, but he could think of little other reason for his cold shoulder.

It didn’t help that he had little to distract him from such spiralling thoughts, even in his engagements meetings with Nina were few and far between, and any outing with Adam was obviously out. He busied himself with planning the wedding, a small ceremony but with much drink, and the honeymoon, perhaps to Monte Carlo? He supposed Nina might like to fly there, he found it rather enjoyable himself. What was it that poem went – _This scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself_ – he’d quite thought of it when he had the chance to look out at the world below him. Yes, Monaco by plane would do. And if he so wished to play some golf, at least he could get some fun out of the whole miserable business.

Despite their mutually unwanted engagement, they _were_ still engaged, and at her behest Ginger had driven Nina to see Agatha at the nursing home a week after her accident. Why she had not visited earlier Ginger wasn’t privy to, or perhaps she’d found alternate means, but he didn’t bother to ask, either. Nina had not said how long she might be and told him not to wait up and that should would get a taxi back, or perhaps a ride from one of her friends, and so he waved her off in agreement.

Presently he had lit a cigarette before his drive home, deciding to do so out of the cab so as to enjoy what little sun had come out that day. He was barely three puffs in before someone positively stormed through the front doors, stopping short on the pavement, and rubbed a hand across their face. It took him a moment, but he realised it was in fact Miles.

“Miles, dear chap!” he said, pushing himself off the wall, inordinately pleased to see him so unexpectedly.

Miles looked up at him sharply, those lovely eyes hidden behind sunglasses, “Oh, Ginger, hullo.” There was a distinctive hitch to his voice that had Ginger most worried.

“Are you quite alright, my dear? I mean, only, you look rather miserable.”

Looking around, Miles attempted to smile at him, un-coloured lips failing to capture as much brilliance as they had before, “Perhaps you could give me a ride?”

“Of course, dear boy,” Ginger said. He stepped to the passenger side and opened the door for his companion, chauffeuring him inside. He got behind the wheel himself, putting the car into gear and heading towards London, “Back to Shepheard’s, yes?”

“Oh, no, no, um, Kings Cross, if you please. I have a train to catch.”

Ginger noted the lack of any suitcase, “Do you not have luggage to pick up? I quite imagine any trip will be lacking without it, I mean.”

He heard a sniff beside him and was most horrified to find that Miles was crying, tears falling from beneath the glasses. Ginger pulled the car into the nearest lay-by at once, “Miles? Whatever is the matter?”

“Sorry,” Miles said, that false smile touching his lips once more, “So silly. I... I broke it off with Tiger. A while ago now actually, before our luncheon. I had hoped he would be discrete about it all, but he- well I don’t know if he did it on purpose, of course, but he left some letters, of mine, lying around apparently. There’s a warrant for... for my arrest. I would have left this morning but with Agatha in her condition I couldn’t bear not to say goodbye.”

“Oh Miles,” Ginger breathed out, “What- what are you going to do?”

“As I said, I’ve a train to catch. France. I expect they’re waiting at my rooms now, I can’t even pack,” he said, voice breaking again.

Ginger watched him helplessly for a moment, before he hesitantly reached out a hand and patted his tweed covered shoulder, “Well, I mean if you shan’t be able to pack, the least I can do is offer you my own suitcase. I simply can’t abide you having to head to the continent with so little!”

“Really, darling, you needn’t-”

“The devil I needn’t,” Ginger said emotionally, thinking to his own musing of the past few weeks, his own sinful imaginings and hopes and desires of the man beside him. They could not arrest him for his own thoughts, of course, yet this dear boy was at the mercy of the law for the crime of putting them to paper. He thought back to Ceylon, of the dalliance with Kavanagh that he’d long explained away as desperation but could no longer deny it was in fact real desire. Here he was, just as much a criminal as Miles in his own heart, “Why this is most beastly! I mean all this over private letters, they should hope to crack open people’s skulls to read their very thoughts next, if it would land them a conviction.”

Miles seemed a little more heartened in the face of Ginger’s outburst, “You know, I’d wanted to break if off with Tiger for a good long while. I had been with him for years, really, and it was all rather wonderful at the start, but I don’t think there was anything there at all, in the end,” he took off his sunglasses at last, fiddling with them in his lap, and looking over at Ginger with watery blue eyes, “But it was so much easier to stay, to pretend, for so long.”

He looked at Miles, seeing him for the first time devoid of all the finery and cosmetics, and even his hair was untamed. He looked as beautiful as ever.

Before he could speak, Miles continued.

“I quite thought you wonderful that first night, at the airship. And every night since, should I dare. It made me remember how I used to feel, what it was like to want someone, in every way. I remember you looking at me on that beach, your eyes as we stood in the ocean. I dreamt of the touch of your hand on my skin, oh, your lips, darling. I fear you render me quite mad,” he smiled a sad smile, “I had hoped... my news, the news I said I had at Veeraswamy, I was going to tell you we’d split. I’d hoped that, well, maybe you would be amenable... but then you told me about Nina, and well, I daresay there seemed no point in hoping any longer.”

Ginger, in the face of a mirroring of his own feelings, surged forward and kissed Miles hard.

Miles quickly returned the touch in kind, one arm wrapping across his shoulders, lovely fingers playing with the hair at his nape, sunglasses lost to the footwell. He had Miles practically pushed down into the leather of the seats, barely coming up for air before he dived back into those lips again. Ginger finally pulled away, looking down upon the man beneath him, “Can you make the crossing tomorrow?” he asked.

“Whatever for?” Miles looked up at him with those bright, bright eyes.

“Stay the night. Stay the night with me.”

“Ginger, darling, I-”

“Please,” he said desperately.

Miles was silent for a moment, but then pulled him down for another kiss, “Yes,” he said, “Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Not the end? But they’ve kissed! Well next chapter takes place over the space of only a day, and is essentially 4k of tying up loose ends, but with lots of new relationship fluff 
> 
> Ok! So, I’ve alluded to Kavanagh before, now slightly clearer as Ginger’s scandalous relationship with a fellow solider – partly inspired by the frankly wonderful story of E.M Foster losing his virginity in Egypt to an injured soldier. To be honest E.M Foster’s life is all rather nice compared to the usual self-deportation tales of the time, he lived with and was in a relationship with a policeman for a very long time, even as his boyfriend’s wife lived in the same house. They had a pretty interesting set up going on if you want to look it up  
> (btw if you like historical gay romances with actual happy endings, his story ‘Maurice’ is wonderful, and you really have to watch the movie too for some peak Rupert Graves, Hugh Grant, and James Wilby loveliness) 
> 
> I’m not sure if the dirt-race was actually named in the film? I’m mostly sure it wasn’t in the book, but Long Eaton was a speedway in Derby in 1929 and near the Great North Road (along which Miles, Adam, and Archie stay at a hotel in Chapter 10), which is why I chose it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, you may have noticed the rating has gone up and I’ve added a few new tags... it was a difficult decision for me because I didn’t just want the relationship to seem like only the culmination to sex mattered, and trying to write smut in 1920s style was a challenge, and not to mention that Waugh’s original text never goes explicit, but I felt that without it there would be so many cut to black moments it would disrupt the flow of it... I hope it worked out with the ending
> 
> This starts the same day as the end of the last chapter, with the visit to Agatha happening in the morning and then this in the afternoon 
> 
> Ginger’s talk with Adam (from ‘Good morning, Mrs Crump’ to ‘...poor little girl’) is essentially quoted direct from the original text, just heavily edited to fit my narrative 
> 
> (I have edited the previous chapters, but nothing too major, just some dialogue additions, spellings, and a bit changed to the history/nature of Miles and Tiger’s relationship at the end of the last chapter)
> 
> ...Miles sleeps a lot in this chapter

It was only early afternoon, but Miles was sleeping peacefully on the four poster. He hadn’t divulged how long he’d known about the warrant, but from the dark circles around his eyes Ginger suspected it was a sleepless night for him. If he hadn’t been sure of his feelings before, their passionate encounter would have exposed all.

Could he really let this darling boy depart his life? If only he and Nina were not engaged; how could he leave her practically destitute?

He distracted himself with packing some essentials for Miles, some clothes he expected would fit, a bottle of expensive cologne he could bear to part with. He would have to make do with the shoes he had, not being the same size, but he was sure there were plenty of outfitters in Paris if one had the money for it. He frowned at the thought; he doubted Miles would have access to his funds.

While he had been only partially dressed in his slacks while he dealt with Miles’ luggage, he now clothed himself fully. Feeling indulgent, he pressed a kiss into Miles’ curls, earning a sleepy huff, before sweeping out of the room and making the journey to Lombard Street. He withdrew a stately one thousand pounds in cash and hurried back to his residence.

Miles was awake when he returned, standing naked over the open suitcase examining its contents. The gramophone was playing quietly in the corner, Noel Coward crooning out ‘World Weary’. He seemed much more relaxed, though there was still a wariness about him, and he started upon hearing the creak of the door.

The curtains were open wide, casting Miles in sunlight, and Ginger couldn’t help but remember how he had looked beneath him mere hours ago in the same light, the pleasure across his face as they moved together, the feel of those wonderful, wonderful hands in his hair, gripping his back, clasping at the sheets.

“There you are, Ginger dearest,” Miles said, relieved, “Where did you bop off to? Left me all alone in bed you beast.”

“Sorry, I just had to go to the bank,” he said, stepping closer through little will of his own. He took out his wallet, handing the whole thing to Miles, “For you, dearest.”

The wallet was rather an old thing, leather and worn, but it was not the gift but merely the wrapping, “What are you-” Miles began, before he saw the contents. He thumbed the cash and counted it out, “Why, Ginger, a thousand pounds? You know you needn’t pay me for my services, but I’m flattered you think I’m worth so much.”

Ginger scowled, “Well, I mean to say, hang it all, it’s not a payment,” he gently took the wallet from Miles, folding it away and placing it in the suitcase, “I doubt you’ll be able to use your bank, you know, I mean for this to help you.”

Miles looked most charmed, “Oh Ginger,” he pulled him closer by the lapels of his jacket, “Payment or not, you simply must let me return the favour in some way.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Oh, but do I want to,” he pushed Ginger onto the chaise longue and straddled his lap, pulling his tie loose.

Ginger slept too this time, and it was well past supper by the time he woke. He didn’t open his eyes at first, taking in the feeling of warmth at his chest, the tickle of hair on his face, the fruity sweet smell of his bed-mate’s soap.

They had fallen asleep close together and, while Miles had turned over during the night, he was still in Ginger’s arms, legs tangled with his own beneath the sheets. He allowed himself time just to look at him, his gorgeous profile, his face lax with sleep. While he had indeed known what he felt the moment they kissed in the car, he did not know what he would do until this moment.

He brushed away a curl beneath Miles’ ear, kissing the bare skin the gesture revealed. Only when he was satisfied with pressing more kisses into the juncture of his neck did he once again slip out of bed, this time to the telephone. The clock said it was well past midnight.; he would have to have a large breakfast brought up before their drive, to atone for missing dinner quite so spectacularly.

He dialled the familiar number, listening to the dial tone idly as he watched the coverlet move with the motion of Miles’ breathing. He belatedly realised the phone had rang out, and turned his attention back to it, frowning at the receiver. Dialling once more, the call again rang through, and he put it down softly.

Nina should have reasonably been back to her hotel by now. Perhaps she was simply sleeping, though with the hours she had called him previously it was odd that she would not be awake. A suspicion came over him, that perhaps she didn’t answer because she wasn’t home, and perhaps she wasn’t home because she was with Adam, who was likely to have been to see Agatha himself. Ginger should have felt betrayed or upset if he truly cared for Nina as a fiancé should, but instead the thought brought him some relief that he may not be the only unfaithful one. Though could it truly be called unfaithful if neither had any faith in the relationship to begin with?

Deciding to call again later, he returned to the bed, trying not to jostle the mattress too much, but despite his care Miles shuffled, turning to face him and blinking with bleary eyes.

“Mhmm, darling what time is it?”

Ginger balanced himself on his elbow, bringing a hand up to stroke at Miles’ hair, “Late, past one.”

“Oh, you’ve quite ruined my sleep pattern, I shall be up half the night.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Ginger grinned at him, “I mean I had rather hoped we’d be awake anyway.”

“Oh, you wonderful beastly thing, come here,” Miles pulled him down into a heated kiss, slow and deep, “I still reserve the right to complain in the morning.”

“Even if I make it worth your while?”

Miles giggled as Ginger mouthed at his jaw, “Oh, especially so, if you intend to tire me out further.”

“Just lay back, my sweet, I mean to treat you,” Ginger said, kissing down his neck, “I thought about this, you know, wanted you every time,” he made his way down Miles’ chest, “I didn’t want to stop, at the beach,” he sucked a bruise into the flesh of his hip, “I say, I wanted to take you then and there.”

Miles tangled his fingers into Ginger’s hair, “I wanted you too, oh Ginger, _yes_!”

He would have to keep Miles naked as often as possible, Ginger thought, for the joy of the expanse of pale skin beneath him, his for the taking, was like no other. He moved from his divine hip bone to the juncture of his thigh, then dared to press a kiss to the head of his cock, marvelling at how beautiful Miles looked in pleasure. His moans were reward enough for him to take Miles into his mouth, hand stroking the length he could not swallow.

Miles clenched his hands in Ginger’s hair, hooking his leg over his shoulder to pull him closer with his heel. Ginger wasn’t much skilled in this, even with his mild practice with Kavanagh, but Miles seemed to be enjoying himself, immensely so, in fact, if the barely restrained motion of his hips was anything to go by.

He felt emboldened enough to take him down a little further, only an inch or so unengulfed, before he felt his gag reflex take hold, and pulled off with an obscene sound. Deciding that he could ignore his own erection no longer, he gently set down Mile’s thigh from his shoulder, and he took himself in hand as he shifted back up to Miles’ face. He kissed him, tongues meeting erotically, pressing his body all the length of Miles’ own, taking both their cocks in hand and working them together even as he thrust against him. Miles cried out into his mouth, and it only made Ginger jerk them faster, taking great panting breaths as he felt his orgasm draw near.

“Miles, I’m so close,” he breathed, words heaved out.

Ginger watched as Miles’ face scrunched up, then, not even able to respond with more than a pleasured groan, his mouth shaped around the sound, his eyebrows high on his brow, eyes fluttering from open to closed as he spilled out across their chests and Ginger’s hand. It was this sight alone that had Ginger following, collapsing onto the warm body beneath him, sighing into his hair.

They lay in silence, laboured breaths petering out into normalcy. When Ginger felt he could move once more, he raised his head to kiss Miles deeply, enjoying the way his hands were roaming about his back. He pressed his lips to him once, twice more, before slipping away to gather a cloth to wipe their seed away, acutely aware of the unbearably fond look Miles was giving him as he cleaned them. He set the cloth aside, and returned to his lover, laying down across his chest, his face nestled into the meat of Miles’ shoulder, hand on his chest feeling every comforting breath.

Neither knew how long they rested, allowing the quiet of the night to wash over them. But as Ginger felt Miles begin to soften into sleep, he knew he had to break the peace to tell Miles of his decision.

“I’m coming with you,” he whispered, but it may as well have been a shout for the presence the words had in the room.

“Mmm, what was that?” Miles said sleepily into his hair.

“I’m coming with you to France.”

Miles opened his eyes then, looking down at him disbelievingly, “Ginger, whatever are you talking about?”

“I mean to say I’m wild about you Miles, you know” he said, taking his hand in his, kissing the knuckles, “I’ve thought of little else since I met you. I don’t want you just to be a fond memory, do you see what I mean? I want to stay with you, I mean, if you’ll allow it.”

“You- you can’t mean that... What about Nina?”

“I’ll break it off with her,” he said with conviction, “I already tried to call her to say so.”

“Ginger,” Miles said, his tone soft and delicate, “we may have had fun today, but surely you can’t think you want to be with me.”

“I say, fun? Damn it, you mean to say that’s all this was to you?” Ginger said, cold dread pooling in his chest. He took back his hand, moving away to sit upon the edge of the bed, his back to Miles, “And what you said in the car? Did I infer too much from that, too, when you said what you thought of me? I mean, you said you were amenable?”

“Darling, that’s not what I meant at all!”

“No, I mean, hang it all, you only let me assume it was me that you wanted in every way.”

“Ginger, dear, you misunderstand me-” Miles said, frustratedly.

Ginger merely sighed, “I think I shall retire to the guest room. You’re welcome to stay until your train.”

Miles must have been closer than he realised, for before he could leave, arms enveloped him, tugging him back into the warmth of his chest, “Are you always this stubborn hearted at this hour? If you could deign yourself to listen to me instead of unduly self-flagellating you might hear that _of course_ I would love to have you like this, for now and for however long you are willing,” he kissed at Ginger’s shoulder, “But my darling, I can’t ask you to give up your life here. I’ve had mine rather forcibly taken from me in the most unbearable way, and wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, let alone you, my sweet.”

“Oh, rot, what life would it be, dear thing, to be parted from you now I have known you? I mean, to try and be content with an empty house and a cold wife when I have moved in you, and you in me, if you know my meaning. To know my happiness, my love, lies not in my, well , in my marital bed and all that, but across the channel.

Miles held him tight, “I daresay I have not moved in you yet,” he joked through bit-back emotion.

Ginger smiled, turning his head to nose at his cheek, “What opportunity would there be to do so if I were to stay here, and you were to be in France?” he kissed away a fallen tear, “I love you, Miles. Being with you could never make my life less.”

Miles was quietly sobbing now, stroking at Ginger’s hair. Ginger wrapped his arms around those encircling his waist, gently rocking them together as he whispered soothing words.

“My sweetest angel,” Miles sniffed out, “I do so love you, too.”

They swayed together on the bed a little longer, before Ginger felt Miles sleepily droop over his shoulder. It was now more early morning than late night, and Ginger lay Miles back down beneath the sheets, cuddled in close, “We should sleep now, my dearest.”

Miles hummed, pressing even closer to him. He had planned to call Nina once more, but with Miles so tenderly in his arms, he dismissed the idea; she could wait until the morning.

Miles reached out for him with a whine as he slipped out of the bed, “Ginger, do you have a particular aversion to staying in bed?”

“With you, my dearest, the opposite is true,” Ginger said, casting an eye to the clock and the early hour displayed. He truly did not want to part from him, but there was so much to do before they left, and this one morning would have to be sacrificed.

“Well, you could at least try to show it!” Miles grumbled, “I should have quite liked to have woken much more pleasurably.”

“What a delight that would have been, only, I’m sorry, dear boy, I mean I do have a lot to do before we leave.”

“I see, you make me sound quite the burden.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, my love, of course you’re not,” Ginger said, stopping in his dressing to stroke Miles’ curls and kiss his cheek, “Rather it’s everyone else I’m finding burdensome.”

Miles must not be fond of mornings. Or perhaps his grumpy mood was merely because he was rather sleep deprived. Either way, Miles looked ever so cute with his angry pout, that he could not help but kiss him.

“It’s true. If it were up to me I’d never leave this bed, and I mean, soon it can be so, once we’re in France. But I quite have to deal with Nina and all that, and Adam too.”

“I though you called Nina last night? Was that not why you left the bed the first time?”

“It was, but she wouldn’t answer. Perhaps it’s better this way after all, I should like to speak to Adam to see if he’s serious about Nina before I tell her of our disengagement.”

“Alright, but I don’t see what another half hour would have mattered! I do believe we have until eleven to make the last ship,” Miles crossed his arms dramatically.

Ginger looked down at him fondly, “Maybe I _was_ too hasty in rising, darling. I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

“I should think so. I’m in need of some new rouge. And shadows, of course.”

“I shall buy you the finest Paris has to offer.”

“Good.” Miles kept his huff for only a moment more, before he softened and pecked a kiss to his lips, “Bring me breakfast too, sweetling.”

Ginger walked the distance to Shepheard’s, frowning at the sight of a policeman walking away from the building. He could rather just be on his rounds, but Ginger was still wary, worried that they may still be at the hotel. He needn’t have, though, as the foyer was quite empty of them, and Mrs Crump speaking with Adam rather than up in the rooms if there were police here.

Adam seemed to be writing something out as he approached them, and Ginger, still high strung from his worries, greeted her a little stiffly, “Good morning, Mrs Crump.”

She pressed a glass into his hand, babbling in only the way a hotelier could, “Come and sit down and have a glass of wine, dear, why I knew you before you were born.”

“Hullo, Ginger,” Adam said.

“Look here, Symes,” said Ginger looking in an embarrassed manner at the glass of champagne which had been put into his hand, “I want to speak to you. Perhaps we can go somewhere we shan’t be disturbed.”

Lottie excused herself, departing the parlour. Her voice was still loud, apparently turning her attention to yelling at the poor Italian waiter.

“Well?” said Adam.

“Look here, Symes,” Ginger said again, “what I mean to say is Nina’s a damn sight too good for either of us. I’ve been lucky, what with your awful rough luck, and all that, but still, when you come to think of it, well, look here damn it, I mean, d’you see what I mean?”

“Not quite,” Adam said gently, “Now tell me again, it is something about Nina?”

“Yes, it is,” said Ginger in a rush, “Nina and I are engaged, and well, hang it all, she dined with you last night, didn’t she, and stayed out jolly late, too.”

“How do you know how late she stayed out?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, you see I wanted to speak to her about something rather important, so I rang her up once or twice and didn’t get an answer.”

“I suppose you rang her up about every ten minutes?”

“Oh no, damn it, not as often as that,” Ginger said truthfully, thinking back to dragging himself from Mile’s side with necessity but heavy reluctance, “No, no, not as often as that. I know it sounds rather unsporting and all that, but you see I wanted to speak to her, and, anyway, I didn’t get through, and anyway, well, after all, I mean one is a gentleman. It isn’t as though you were just a sort of friend of the family is it? I mean, you were more or less engaged to her yourself, weren’t you, at one time?”

“I was, I daresay you quite butted in.”

He frowned, did Adam not understand why Nina had chosen Ginger? Did he truly think Ginger had pursued her?

“Oh no, look here Symes, I mean, damn it, you mustn’t say things like that,” he seated himself now, untouched champagne sloshing at the rim of the glass. He was getting off topic, but maybe it was best Adam knew, “D’you know all the time was out East I had Nina’s photograph over my bed, honest I did. I expect you think that’s sentimental and all that, but what I mean is Nina was the _only_ girl I really thought of, and I’d sort of made up my mind when I came home to look her up, and if she’d have me.”

“I see.”

“And there’s another thing, you know, sentiment and all that apart, I mean Nina’s a girl who likes nice clothes and things, you know, comfort and all that. Well, I mean to say, of course, her father’s a topping old boy, absolutely one of the best, but he’s rather an ass about money, if you know what I mean. What I mean, Nina’s going to be frightfully hard up, and all that, and I mean you haven’t got an awful lot of money, have you?”

“I haven’t any at all,” Adam confirmed.

“That’s what I mean, awfully rough on you. No one thinks the worse of you, I mean earning a living and all that, people respect you for it. Heaps of fellows haven’t any money nowadays, I could give you the names of dozens of stout fellows, absolute toppers, who simply haven’t a bean. No, all I mean is, when it comes to marrying, then it makes a difference, doesn’t it?”

“What you’ve been trying to say all this time is that you’re not sure of Nina?” Adam asked slowly, “Now, Ginger, tell the truth. What’s Nina worth to you?”

Ginger was rather surprised at his misunderstanding. And his boldness. There had been the thrumming of tension between them the whole conversation, an unspoken hostility, but this was the first time Adam had hinted at something related to anger. He was most pleased, after all, if he were to do this, he had to be sure Nina was not a mere passing fancy for Adam, “Why, what an extraordinary thing to ask,” Ginger said, “I mean, I couldn’t possibly say.”

“Well, I’ll sell her to you.”

Ginger frowned, not expecting this route, “No, why, look here, good God, damn it, I mean-”

“I’ll sell my share in her for a hundred pounds.”

“You pretend to be fond of Nina and you talk about her like that!” Ginger stood then, “Why, hang it, it’s not decent.”

“A hundred down, and I leave Nina to you. I think it’s cheap!”

“And to think- no, this only shows what an escape Nina’s had, poor little girl.”

“If you shan’t pay I shan’t decline her next invitation.”

“Fine, I shall pay your ransom, a hundred, for you to leave her alone.” It would certainly be best that Nina avoided someone so ready to sell her out. So much for his so-called love for her.

“Deal. A toast?” Adam asked raising his glass.

“No, I think not. Good-bye, Symes.”

“Good-bye, Ginger.”

He was most glad he’d chosen to walk that morning, for it gave him time to think things through. He hadn’t expected Adam to be so beastly, to suggest selling Nina, of all things! He had quite thought all this business with the major had been him trying to have the means to provide for Nina when they were to be married, what with the calling off of the engagement so oft when he found himself lacking, but perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps Nina was merely a secondary prize to him, after all.

But, oh, no matter the motive, his dilemma remained the same. He could not leave Nina so destitute, but if he wished to be with Miles he couldn’t marry her either, it wouldn’t be fair on any of them. Well, if Adam was not to be the one to care for her, then at least he could give her some means while she found all she deserved.

He shan’t be needing his house, no matter his ancestral claim to it. Mother and father had no need of it from their graves, either, and Nina was sure to have more use of it. The staff could stay too, supposing he still paid their wages, and of course cover any upkeep of the house. It would cost him greatly to do so, what with rent on his and Miles’ lodgings in Paris, and despite his rather large fortune, it was not infallible. Besides, both he and Miles would be quite out of jobs, sure the army would not be keen to pay pension for long to one who eloped to France with a male lover with a warrant on his head.

But with Miles departing too, the role of _Mr Chatterbox_ would be free. Perhaps... Nina had written for them before, if covering for Adam, and she certainly knew as much of the city’s gossip as Miles and Adam, if not more. And what with the vote and the war, some women were quite up in the working world, and wasn’t their editor a women herself? And surely if Lord Monomark was willing to keep on Simon Balcairn, who he had heard sparked numerous libel cases over the years, he wouldn’t baulk too much at hiring a woman so into society as Nina.

And if he did have his reservations, surely breaking a story as scandalous as his and Miles’ would cement her place.

Could he do it? Could he sell himself out for her?

But it would not just be for her, of course, it would be for him and Miles, too.

Yes. He quite thought he could. They were both rather damned as it was, anyway.

It was only when his walk took him past Hatton Garden that he recalled the ring he’d bought for Nina, and the ones he’d been so eager to buy for Miles. Spotting the store he’d been in mere days before, he once again entered the jewellery shop, striding straight to the sapphires.

“Good day, sir,” the shop hand greeted him, “I say, weren’t you here but a few weeks ago? Your young lady not a fan of the other ring?”

“Oh, no, she seemed to like it muchly,” he said, still scanning across the cabinets, “This is for someone else, I mean to say, for a friend.”

“Well, I do say!” the man said, disapprovingly, “Friend indeed.”

“What can you tell me of this one?” Ginger asked, ignored the man’s mumblings, and pointing to a pretty silver looking ring, a large sapphire offset by two small diamonds. The band was broader at the front, filigree etched across it.

The previously baulking shop hand halted in his judgemental gaze, shelving his opinions in the face of a potential sale, “Well, it’s white gold, fourteen carat, of course, real diamonds, and in the centre a Ceylon sapphire.”

Ginger looked at him, “ _Ceylon_ sapphire?”

“Oh yes, very good quality Ceylon sapphires are, only second to the Kashmir, though I daresay I’ve only seen a handful in my lifetime, exceptionally rare, you understand. But Ceylon’s are nothing to be sneered at, I assure you.”

“What about sizing? Would it be easy to resize?”

“Oh yes, if you bring along your, ahem, your young friend, we can fit it for you as part of the price.”

“I haven’t time for that I’m afraid, we’re headed to the continent in an hour or so. What sizes do you have in stock? Something just a bit less than my own, I do think.”

The man blinked at him, “Not to be indelicate, sir, but does she have rather large hands?”

“Smaller than mine, at least. I am an S, so perhaps a P? Do you have it in around that size?”

“Well, we do go up to that, yes, but-”

“Excellent, I shall take it at once!” Ginger said, pulling out his cheque book, “How much do I owe you, good chap?”

The man told him and watched a little dumbstruck as Ginger signed the cheque with a flourish. He boxed up the ring, shaking his head as Ginger took it from him and sped away in his motor car.

Miles was napping again once he returned home, pastry from the bakery two streets over in hand. He couldn’t begrudge him so, what with him being deprived of sleep two nights in a row, one panicked, the other pleasurable. He was grateful, at least, that his sleeping gave him opportunity to hide his gift. Placing the pastry on the table, he quietly headed to the suitcase on the dresser, slipping the box within the folds of the clothes he’d packed earlier.

Once finished, he picked up the phone to call Nina, hopefully the last deed of the day before he and Miles could head off together.

Thankfully this call was picked up after three rings, Nina’s tired voice answering, “Hullo?”

“Nina, it’s Ginger.”

“Oh, Ginger darling, it’s so early!”

It was past nine, but Ginger chose not to mention it.

“I know, I just have something rather important to tell you,” he said.

“At this hour?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that I’m leaving the country today, well, I mean to say I shan’t be returning for quite some time.”

“Leaving, why whatever for?”

“I’m going to France in an hour or so.”

“France? How wonderful! Oh, well, I shall pack and join you.”

“I’m afraid not, Nina,” he said, “I’m ever so sorry, but I have to break off our engagement.”

“Ginger?”

“I’m going with Miles.”

“With... Miles? I hardly thought you knew him?”

“On the contrary, I rather know him quite well, you know.”

“Oh. Oh my. But Ginger, this is so beastly of you! What ever am I to do now?”

“I quite agree, I mean, I have been most beastly, and I simply must compensate you.”

“Yes, I quite think so!”

“You can, of course, keep the ring, if you so wish.”

“I hardly think that would cover the scandal of it all.”

“Yes, indeed, which is why I’m leaving you the house too.”

There was a pause, “The _house?_ ”

“Oh yes, and the staff too if you so wish. I will, of course, cover any upkeep of the place if you so need it.”

“Ginger-“

“Oh, one last thing,” Ginger said, watching as Miles stirred a little in bed, “I’m sure Adam told you of Mile’s warrant? Well I do imagine it shan’t have been covered yet. Though perhaps best not to mention him by name, considering. And then, of course, _no-one_ will have covered the part where a respectable and eligible army gentleman has quite abandoned his fiancé to elope with him, I mean, do you see what I mean?”

“Darling, you’re not making a lick of sense.”

“I mean to say the position of _Mr Chatterbox_ is open once more, you know, and whoever could put in a story tonight in advance of the news would quite be in contention for the position. I mean, _Miss Chatterbox_ has a nice ring to it.”

“Ginger are you suggesting I become _employed_?” she said, aghast.

“I quite say I am,” he said distractedly, for now Miles was fully awake and watching him most brazenly from his position on the bed, “I really must go now Nina, I’m sorry, good-bye!”

“Well, good-bye Ginger. But I do think you’re just as much a cad as Adam!”

Ginger quickly put down the receiver without a thought to the insult, eager for Miles. He slipped beneath the coverlet, perched over him, “Good morning, my love.”

Miles brought up his hands to Ginger’s shoulders, thumbs caressing him even through the starchy shirt, “It’s criminal that you’re dressed, angel-botty.”

He blushed at the nickname but kissed him for the sheer Miles-ness of it, “I shouldn’t like to be, but I’ve been rather busy this morning.”

“Yes, that did sound a rather serious phone conversation,” he moved his hand down Ginger’s back, slipping his fingers down the back of his slacks, relishing in Ginger’s delighted laugh, “Leaving your fiancé to elope with me to France, how dreadful of you.”

“Nina called me a cad.”

Miles laughed, “I quite imagine she did!” he hugged him closer, “Did I hear you say _Miss Chatterbox_?”

“You did indeed. Truthfully, I think she was more angry that I suggested she work than my leaving of her.”

They were silent for a moment, just enjoying the closeness of each other.

“Are you sure?” Miles asked quietly, “About this.”

Ginger kissed his neck, thinking to the ring now neatly packed in his suitcase, “I quite think this is the first time I’ve ever been sure of anything.”

“Oh darling,” he said, turning his head to kiss him properly.

They only broke when the hall clock chimed for ten, Ginger petting Miles’ hair once more, “We shall have to go now if we are to make the last crossing.”

“We could stay here, together. Who would know? If I shall never have to leave this bed it wouldn’t be a hardship.”

“Oh but Miles, I mean I should like to take you out on my arm! To think, we could dance in Paris with no care. We could hold hands at Le Grand Véfour, or Café Procope, you know. We could retire to our room and be as bold as we like-”

Miles interrupted his tirade by kissing him fiercely, pushing him back into the sheets, “Ginger you gorgeous, wonderful thing, what ever are we waiting for! We have a boat to catch.”

Miles had already replenished his wardrobe, and was wearing a charming beret, his lips once more stained with red, and his bright eyes shadowed in steel grey from the new powder set Ginger had gifted him. His cheeks were pink from the cold, but he was nestled warm in a fetching turtleneck. Ginger flicked open the paper as Miles sipped at his coffee.

He had sent off for the latest _Excess_ to be delivered to their new residence almost as soon as they had arrived, paying someone quite handsomely to courier it all the way, but it had only arrived two days late. He was filled with both trepidation and anticipation as he scanned for the _Mr Chatterbox_ column.

His face broke out in a small smile upon reaching the page, noting the title merely said _Chatterbox._ He began to read.

_‘Captain “Ginger” Littlejohn, well known eligible bachelor and one of the wealthiest men in Society has reportedly left London in favour of Paris, where he has been scandalously linked to the disgraced Mr Maitland, who not a week ago absconded authorities for his entanglements with a renowned British racing driver in the most revealing letters. It is exclusively reported that Captain Littlejohn also retracted his engagement from his distraught fiancé shortly before leaving, observed at the Dover Crossing wearing the ever popular yellow brogues sweeping Society...’_

He closed the offending page, his smile large and untamed as he folded the paper down onto the table. Miles caught his eyes across the table, and he smiled in return over the rim of his coffee.

It was morning, a bright but cold winter day, and they were at the little café across the street from their hotel. They sat at the rickety metal tables lining the street, Parisians strolling past them without a glance. Ginger stretched his hand across the table and, meeting him halfway, Miles took it into his own, silver and blue sparkling from its place on his finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap! I hope you enjoyed it, thank you for all the kudos and comments, I have loved writing this and it means so much you like reading it!
> 
> Also, I have good news! Well, at least I hope it’s good... I’m going to do Miles’ POV! It should clear up other questions left unanswered in both this fic and the original novel – and expand on Miles and Tiger’s relationship (I might make the start of their relationship a separate part because I know some people just want to read some straight up Miles/Tiger, and I’m nothing if not a woman of the people) 
> 
> But yes, I’m going to give myself a break of a week or two to, ahem, actually write my dissertation, but writing Miles POV should hopefully be quicker because I already have the plot and the dialogue fleshed out from this part.
> 
> Once again, thank you!


End file.
